


Childhood Monsters

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Crime, Drama, Friendship, Gen Fic, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Painful memories come up for Fraser and RayV, as each man struggles to come to terms with monsters from their pasts, while saving a runaway child from his own demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Benny. Benny. Benny... hey Benny."

Fraser continued to stand like a statue, and Ray laughed. "See how annoying that is?" He tapped his friend between the eyes. "'Tock.' What are you thinking in there? I always wonder." Fraser continued to look seemingly oblivious to Ray's actions. Ray rolled his eyes. "Hello? Earth to Mounty, are you there?"

A gaggle of girls walked by, giggling. They slowed as they passed the red suited Mounty, seeming to discuss something.

"They're looking at you Fraser..." Ray pointed out the obvious. "What is it with you and the ladies? Is it your cologne? Nah, you smell like soap and carbolic. Come on man, don't you see that? You're a tourist attraction." One of the gigglers paused for a moment, then darted out of her group, offering a camera to Ray with that particular mix of shyness and flirtation known only to teenage girls. Ray smiled. They reminded him of his sister Francesca... though to be fair she should have grown out of her teenage phase by now. On her it wasn't so sweet and innocent seeming.

The girl with the camera blushed and giggled, as her friends huddled together, whispering behind their fingers.

"Do you think you could take a picture of me with your friend," the girl asked, in a broad New York accent, confirming that she and her friends were indeed tourists.

"Why, thank you kindly, I'm glad to help," replied Ray, tongue in cheek.

The girl stood next to Fraser, and got her picture. Retrieving her camera she ran back to her flock of friends, blushing and grinning at her own audacity.

"Enjoy the rest of your trip, ladies," Ray declaimed as they disappeared into the Chicago crowds.

Continued silence from the red suited statue. Ray sighed and looked at his watch. "Ten minutes," he said, and sighed again. "Okay, so I'm an idiot, got here early... I'll just sit over here till hell freezes over or you come off shift, that okay Benny?" Ray paused, allowing a pause in the "conversation", though he knew Fraser wouldn't reply. He shrugged, and opened a newspaper, shaking it out. Something to read on the consulate steps while waiting for that magic moment when Ben decided to stop being a sculpture for the day.

He wondered, for the umpteenth time, "what does he think about, standing there for hours at a time?"

…

The art to standing sentry for hours on end is to not think. Fraser stands sentry, and doesn't move, and doesn't think. He doesn't think, he never thinks, about a little boy standing in a wardrobe, obeying a last command.

The clock struck twelve, and Fraser blinked, coming out of his trance like state. He had obviously been aware of Ray, and the girls, and the four other groups of tourists who had stopped to pose with him, not to mention the toddler who kept poking him to see if he was real. If necessary he could have walked backwards into those memories and retrieved any relevant information. But that wasn't thinking, that was observing. For most of his sentry duty he occupied himself by managing his blood pressure, his heart rate, flexing his muscles in rotation, so as to prevent pins and needles, and stave off any light headedness. It would never do to pass out on duty.

Fraser has never passed out on duty. Again, he doesn't think of the six year old in the closet.

"Good day, Ray. Are you working?"

"Nah, I've got extra hours owing to me. Are you off now?"

Fraser checked his watch, and nodded. It was a reflex action, to check his father's watch. He already knew the time. "It would appear that I am."

"Good, so we can go get something to eat... let's try not to get into anything crazy today, okay? Just... pizza."

"Why would we get into anything crazy?"

"Well, just because that's what you do. You're like a crazy magnet. You can't walk down the road without a piano falling on your head."

"Well, that's not at all accurate, Ray. I've never had a piano fall on my head. Although there was this one time when a piano was being delivered to a school in an Inuit village and somehow it got loose on the ice... it was quite a challenge catching up with it..."

"I don't want to hear about it. They were hiding midget smugglers in the piano to infiltrate the Territories, weren't they?"

"Well, no Ray, that's not what happened at all, although it was a Baby Grand, so I suppose it could have been used for some kind of smuggling, now that I think about it... it would explain why it was so very badly out of tune. Of course, that could have been the cold..."

Ray shook his head and laughed. He never quite knew whether Fraser was joking or not when he told these stories. He liked to think that at least some of the time his partner had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek.

"Come on, let's go to that new place, I like the look of the menu."

"You're the expert on Italian cuisine, Ray."

"That I am."

Nice to be an expert on something of course.

Their meal was, of course, interrupted by something crazy. It always was.

…...

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

Ray blinked, and stopped looking at the waitress's legs. "What, Fraser? What?"

"Are you aware that there's a person hiding under our table?"

"Excuse me?"

"There would appear to be a small child hiding between our table and the wall." Fraser was whispering. "He's using our legs for cover."

Ray was about to look under the table when Fraser blocked with his hand. He shook his head, and continued to talk soto voice. "I don't think he wants attention drawn to him."

Now that Fraser had drawn Ray's notice to the small person under the table it was impossible to ignore. How had Ray not noticed that? The waitress's legs had a lot to answer for.

"If the kid doesn't want attention drawn then he shouldn't be creasing up my trousers," Ray hissed.

"I think he's scared of something, Ray."

"Are you sure he's not just playing hide and seek?"

"Almost certain." Fraser paused, and seemed to be listening. "His heart rate is uncharacteristically high for a child his age, and he's breathing rapidly and irregularly. He appears to be frightened, and trying not to cry."

"How long has he been there?"

"About five minutes. He crept here from behind the curtains when that man at the counter came in." Fraser creased his brow thoughtfully. "He seems to be making inquiries as to the location of a child."

"So, what, the kid's hiding from that man?"

"That would appear to be a logical deduction, yes."

A swift moment of nausea resolved into an angry knot in Ray's throat. He darted a glance at the man Fraser had indicated. He was tall, very white, almost translucently so, but with near black hair, wearing jeans, denim shirt, leather jacket. Although Ray didn't know for sure that this person had committed a crime he seemed to feel it in his guts. Broad hands. The knuckles scuffed as though in a fight. Ray's instinct, as a policeman, as the child on the wrong end of a fist, combined. The guy was dirty.

Blinking hard Ray looked away again, out the window. Gently he dropped his hand, and felt for the boy's head. It was curly. He could feel the little body stiffen under his palm. Bending his head to his plate, as though examining his food intently, he whispered through the table, "don't worry kid, we won't let him get you." The promise was out before he could stop it. He realised even as he was saying it that he had no idea who this man was. It could be that he was the kid's father, that at the end of the day the boy would be forced to go back "home". He lifted his hand off the kid's head, before allowing his fingers to clench into a knot. Placing his fist on the table he closed his eyes, and concentrated on breathing. Behind his lids there came the flash of a belt, and he flinched, despite himself. The belt was years ago, but it still bit. He opened his eyes.

"Ray?" Fraser looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah... I'm fine."

The guy at the counter finished questioning their waiter. "Hey," he looked across at them, casually. "Have either of you seen a kid come in here?"

"I haven't seen a kid in here," Ray stated, truthfully. "Have you seen a kid in here?"

Fraser, for once, lied creditably. "No, I haven't seen a child in here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. If you've lost a child you can always make a report to us." Ray pulled out his badge. "We're police officers, always happy to help."

The man looked warily at them. "I thought your friend was a door man, or a valet or something."

"He's a Mounty."

"Ah, okay that's alright then. I'm sure my son just ran ahead to my wife, that's all."

"Fine," Ray continued to play the concerned police man. "But if you have any trouble, just let us know."

The man nodded, and exited sharply.

…...

Dinner had turned to dust for Ray. He and Fraser ate slowly, until they were sure the man wasn't coming back.

"I think it's safe now," Fraser spoke. Finally, Ray allowed himself to look under the table. All he could see was a mop of black curly hair hiding behind knees with arms crossed in front of him, guarding his face.

"You can come out now, kid. He's gone."

The boy peeped over his knees.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Snuffling, rubbing his eyes, the boy came blinking out from under the table. Ray caught his breath.

The boy's face was swollen and purpling. A black eye, split lip, cut to the cheek. Someone had used this kid as a punch bag.

"Did he do this to you?"

The boy shook his head, proving as he did so that he was a poor liar. The fright in his eyes, and the way he kept glancing at the door told a completely different story.

"So why were you running from him?"

The boy began to step back. Too aggressive, Ray thought, angry at himself. He should know better, he of all people should know better than to push.

"Hey, never mind. Look, we got plenty of pizza left. How about you help us finish it?"

The boy stood and thought. "Are you really police officers?"

"Well, yes we are. I'm a policeman from right here in Chicago, and my friend here is a Mounty from Canada."

"What's Canada?"

"It's a place where they don't tell lies, everyone is very polite, and they all help old ladies cross the road."

"My friend Ray is exaggerating the qualities of Canada," Fraser interrupted.

"But not this particular Canadian. He is very good at helping old ladies cross the roads."

The boy looked at Fraser solemnly.

"What's a Mounty?"

"Well," Fraser replied, "it's just like a regular police man, but we get to ride horses."

"Do you have a horse here?" the boy asked, suddenly interested.

"No, but I have a wolf at home," Fraser smiled. "If you don't help us finish the pizza, then I'll have to bring it back and feed it to him, and well, let's just say cheese doesn't agree with him."

"Can I really eat it?"

"Course you can," Ray pulled a triangle of pizza from the plate and handed it to the boy, who looked at it as though he'd never seen food before.

"Thank you," he said, then started, urgently, to eat.

…...

Back at the station house the boy looked forlorn, legs swinging off an adult sized chair. Fraser was introducing him to his lupine companion, explaining how they met.

"Do you call him "Dief" because he's deaf? That's what my Granny says, 'are you deef?' When I don't do something she asks I mean."

"What's your Granny's name?"

"Granny," the boy replied, as though the answer were self evident.

"Of course," Fraser replied. "Silly me. So, what's your name?"

"Colum."

"Colum? That's a nice name. Unusual."

"So's Deefybaker."

"Agreed. Do you have a second name?"

The boy looked at him, and chewed his swollen lip. "Ow," he said. "I don't know."

"Okay, Colum, that's fine. Now, we're just going to see the police doctor about those bruises, and then... well, we'll figure out a nice safe place you can stay tonight."

"Will the doctor make me better?"

"I should think that she can help."

The boy went shy, and looked at his feet. "Can I stay with you and Ray and Deefybaker?"

"Well, Ray and I don't live together..."

The boy pondered.

"I hope you don't mind, I amn't being rude, but can I stay with Ray?"

Internally Fraser breathed a sigh of relief. He'd do anything to help the boy, but his apartment wasn't exactly designed with kids in mind. Ray's Mom would definitely enjoy coddling a little boy, and the food situation was bound to be much better. Fraser had his skill set, but cooking wasn't among them. Admittedly he was a better cook than his grandmother, but then who wasn't?

"That's fine, Colum. Dief and I can visit."

The boy brightened. "Thank you."

…...

"So, who is he?" Welsh seemed resigned rather than adversarial, for once.

"I'm afraid we don't know," Ray answered. "Nothing's come up on missing persons yet."

"Actually, we do have a few leads," Fraser countered. "I believe the boy is probably of Irish extraction, based on his name, and the fact that his grandmother speaks a Northern Irish dialect."

"Where do you get that from?" Ray should know better than to query his friend's deductions, but sometimes they still surprised him. "You've never met the woman."

"According to Colum his grandmother says 'deef' instead of 'deaf.'"

"Is that it?" said Welsh, "she could be German or Dutch..."

"Granted. However, his accent, though Americanised, has a few anomalies. For example, he pronounces 't' sounds in the middle of a word as 't' rather than 'd'."

"How else would you pronounce 't'?" Welsh was beginning to sound annoyed.

"Well, an American, or come to that a Canadian, tends to say a word like 'better' so that it sounds like 'bedder', particularly in this neighbourhood. Colum pronounces it more like an English speaking European. 'Be ter.'" Fraser looked thoughful. "Also, he pronounces his 'rs' hard when compared to American, or come to that English norms, clearly defining them at the end of a word. And rather than saying 'aren't I', he says 'amn't I', which is an archaism that has survived in some Irish dialects. So I would assume that he's been raised in a family with some Irish influence."

"Okay, so we've got a boy who grew up in America with an Irish grandma." Welsh shrugged. "It's a help, I suppose." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and stretched. "Okay then, keep broadening the search. Somebody somewhere must be missing this kid."

As the door to the Lieutenant's office shut behind them Ray glared at his partner. "You know, you could have shared all that with me before we went in. How come I always look the idiot?"

Fraser blinked, startled. "You don't look like an idiot Ray... admittedly the shirt is a little colourful, but I think you pull it off."

Ray sighed and went to his desk. There was a child protection order he needed to get hold of if he was to bring Colum home safely that night. "Better get cracking Fraser. Oh... and you and Dief are invited for dinner tonight. Mom's really excited about having a little kid in the house again, and wants to thank you for your do goodedness in rescuing waifs and strays."

"As I recall you did a lot of the rescuing yourself, and you saw off the man he was hiding from with your energetic display of your police badge."

"Yeah, and you lied to his face, Benny." Ray laughed, then quoted..."'I haven't seen a child in here...'"

"Oh my, I did lie, didn't I?"

"Like a pro..." Ray clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm proud of you Benny boy. So, see you and Deef around six?"

"Will do." Fraser cleared his throat nervously. "Will Francesca be there?"

"Oh, word's got around," Ray laughed. "She wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Oh dear..."

...

As it transpired Fran wasn't as ferociously flirtatious as usual. The Vecchio women were instantly enamoured of Colum, and made a big fuss of him. Fraser watched, with a slight frown on his face, as the boy earnestly embraced everyone in sight. Of course, the Vecchio's were delighted by how friendly the lad was. Fraser however knew from long police experience that children who are overly affectionate with strangers have often been starved of affection. A child could go two ways, either fixing themselves upon any sympathetic adult, or closing themselves off entirely. It was obvious which way this child had turned. An attachment disorder he thought, the boy has been traumatised.

By whom, he wondered. The pale man in the restaurant seemed the most obvious culprit, but there must have been others. This wasn't a reaction to short term stress and loneliness. This boy's hunger for love was bone deep.

Fraser watched the boy, an answering ache in his heart, somewhere in the dark. A sliver, a tiny tiny shard of ice, deep down, and hard, and cold.

For a second his eyes drifted shut. Little Benny … standing guard with the night pressing his skin. The moment passed, and, as always, Benton didn't remember that he had remembered.

...

That night Ray woke, to discover that there was a monster in the room. For a brief and terrified heart beat he thought he heard his father's feet stumbling drunkenly towards him, and he braced himself for the beat down. His arm was thrown over his head and he was flat against the wall before he realised that the monster was dead. The old man might haunt him, but a ghost couldn't touch him. He was safe.

He lay silently, wondering what it was that had awakened him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he realised that there was a shadow at the end of his bed. Cautiously he sat up, reaching slowly to the drawer where he kept his gun.

Then he realised. The shadow at the bottom of the bed resolved itself into the figure of a small boy, curled up, with his fingers in his mouth. His breath was snuffly, the swelling in his face making him snore a little.

Ray lay back down, and stared up into the darkness, listening to the boy breath. He remembered breathing through cracked ribs, every breath pain. He was the 'clumsy' boy... football injury, basket ball... he was a running joke at school. He remembered his nose clogged up with blood, and breathing through his mouth. Kids actually believed him when he said he'd walked into a tree.

The boy slept curled up like Diefenbaker on the end of his bed. Ray stared at the night and did not sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Ray arrived at the station he was shocked to see the tall figure of a very white man, with long dark hair waiting patiently at his desk.

"Detective Vecchio," the man stood, and extended his hand. "We met yesterday. I understand from your colleagues that you may have found my son?"

Ray couldn't bring himself to shake the man's hand. He sat abruptly, putting the desk, and all it's clutter, between himself and the visitor. He had to stall... he was flustered. He didn't know what to say.

Deep breath, Vecchio, you'll be okay.

"Could you give a description of your son?"

The man sat opposite him, with an inscrutable look on his face.

"He's nearly six years old, black curly hair. When I saw him yesterday he was wearing grey shorts and a blue t shirt. Is he all right, detective?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that until I've ascertained if we're talking about the same boy," Ray blustered. He knew the description was accurate. Damn, he shouldn't have brought the kid here. Everyone had seen him... poor kid, should have sought sanctuary in the Canadian consulate now he thought about it.

"Where is your wife?"

"My wife?" the man sounded confused for a moment, then made a small gesture, the minutest nod of the head, as though he remembered something. "Ah, yes, well, she's not really my wife. She's my girlfriend really..."

"Is she the boy's mother?"

"Yes..."

"So, why isn't she here with you?"

"Looking after our other children," the man said, with a shifty expression.

"I see." Vecchio glared at the man. "Anything else?"

The man stared, blankly, as though not understanding.

"Your son's name," Vecchio barked. This man was not the boy's father. He wasn't distraught enough, and what kind of father would forget to give his son's name when describing him?

"Of course," the man looked annoyed with himself for the oversight. "His name is Peter."

"Peter?" Vecchio relaxed. He made a performance of looking through all his files and papers.

"No, I'm sorry, there's nobody here to fit that description." Okay, he was lying, but he could perhaps justify it later to his superiors by stating that he was thrown by the name the guy gave.

"You don't have him? Really?" The man arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

Vecchio folded his arms and shook his head.

The man smiled, and suddenly that pale face looked hard as ice.

"Look here, you've been seen round the boxing rings. You're not a clean cop, so don't pretend like you're concerned. If you think you're going to make any money out of this boy's talents, you've got another thing coming. He's a runner, he's a whimpering cry baby, and he'll turn on you like he turned on me."

"What do you mean turned on you?" Vecchio paled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man sat back and stretched out his fingers, checking his nails like a woman after a manicure.

"Little sod thought he could take me on, then he couldn't face it when he lost."

"He's six years old," Vecchio exploded, "are you telling me you beat him?"

The man sneered. "If Peter does turn up, do let me know. You can reach me on this number."

Vecchio, heart shaking, just stared at the proffered number. A mobile number... ordinarily he would have asked for an address, a landline, but he was in shock. What the man had said, it's implications, threw him entirely. What had this man expected the boy to do?

Before Ray had a chance to compose himself the man had risen to his feet and left the room.

Dammit. Ray covered his face with his hands. He was an idiot, he didn't even have the man's name.

...

"Hi Fraser," Fran sidled up to him as he stood on guard outside the Canadian consulate. "Didn't get much of a chance to talk last night... you look good." She stroked his arm. "I do love a man who's strong, but got a caring side. Saving that little boy... well, that's just so attractive to a woman." She stood up as close to him as she could... which was pretty close under the circumstances.

"Fran," barked her brother, the suddenness of it making her jump. "Leave the Mountie alone, you could start a war with Canada if you break him."

"Oh, shut up Ray, Fraser likes it, don't you Fraser?"

"Listen, I need to have a powwow with Fraser here, and it's police business so it can't wait."

"Well, he can't talk with you right now."

"No, but I can talk to him, so back off witch woman."

Fran stood back, scowling. "If you were my sister instead of my brother I'd have serious jealousy issues going on."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Go on, get out of here. You've got your make-up smudged anyway."

She hadn't, but Ray's lie had the desired effect. She squealed, covered her face, and ran away. Ray turned immediately to his friend, and started talking.

"Okay, so here's the deal Fraser... that thug we saw yesterday in the restaurant, he turned up at the precinct today. Claiming to be the father. But didn't know Calum's name, didn't give his own name, didn't give an address, or a proper phone number. Calls the boy 'Peter', which gave me an excuse not to hand him over. He's still hiding out at my mother's."

There was a pause. At times like this the Mountie's silence on duty was not amusing, but bloody annoying. "Okay, so the guy said something to me. I've done some recon at the boxing clubs, playing the dirty cop fluttering on crooked games. So I'm in there, they know me as a crooked guy with a gambling problem. This guy seemed to know I've been hitting the clubs... he thought I was looking to make money out of the boy, but that the boy's skills weren't to be trusted, because he was a 'runner.' Said the boy turned on him, but he 'lost'... so, yeah, the guy's been beating him. I'm pretty certain that he's not Calum's Dad at all, but somebody who's using him for... something. Something illegal. And Calum ran because he was in fear..." For a moment Ray's voice trailed off. The silence was beginning to anger him, even though he knew Fraser was just doing his duty. "Look, Benny, can you say something? Come on, this is serious."

There was a brief flicker on Fraser's face, and Ray could see that his lips were whitening.

"Come on, Benny, we need to look into who this bastard is, what he's up to, what he's been doing to that kid."

Fraser had an imperceptibly tight expression on his face.

"Awh, to hell with this." Ray slapped Fraser hard across the face. "Come on, wake up, this is serious."

"Mommy..." a little girl asked. "Why did that man hit the Mountie?"

"Hush," the mother was dragging her daughter hurriedly away. "Don't say anything..."

"Can we call the police?" the girl said. Her mother picked her up and started to scurry. Ray sighed. This was getting him nowhere. "I'll be back," he said, running up the consulate stairs.

Fraser stared ahead, and stared in. There was a crack in there, somewhere, he could feel it. All of a sudden, he hated his job, he hated his life. It wasn't that Ray had hit him. The sting of it didn't hurt, not really. He deserved it. Half the time he threw himself into danger knowing that the pain was not only worth the risk, it was his due reward. Was he being punished for something? There was something fundamentally wrong, and he didn't know what the hell it was. And then along came a child, with someone who hurt children hard on his heels. The monster under the bed, the troll under the bridge. Big Bad Wolf. It was so hard to keep faith in the Law, in the decency of human beings, when faced with such monsters. His face implacably hard, Fraser stood at his post, and didn't move. He couldn't have cried if he'd wanted to.

Within minutes Ray was standing in front of him again, holding up a piece of paper. "There you go Fraser, signed by the boss. You're free to leave your shift early."

Fraser immediately looked at his partner. "Where do we start?" he asked urgently. Ray put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know just the place," he said grimly. The two men started to run.

...

It was quite a classy joint really, for the kind of joint it was. Well, Vecchio thought so. Fraser obviously didn't. He didn't know where to look. Could we draw any more attention to ourselves, Ray thought angrily, why do I do this every time? Work so hard on my cover, then turn up with a bright red Mountie, and look on while he makes a spectacle of himself?

"Sorry, ladies, I'm most dreadfully sorry... I do beg your pardon. Sorry..." Fraser seemed to be walking a tightrope between the scantily clad dancers, using his hands as shields or blinkers as he dodged through them.

The "ladies" thought this terribly funny, and in response jiggled and dangled even more than before. Fraser was as red as his jacket by the time they'd made their way back stage.

"Ray," Fraser whispered, "please tell me that this place is restricted to people of adult years?"

Ray said nothing. "Oh dear," Fraser said, then "Oh God," which was the nearest Ray had ever heard him come to swearing. Though he could be praying.

Then he realised what the Mounty was thinking, and his heart went out to him. "No... not what you're thinking. Not directly anyway. I mean... the doctor would have said something, wouldn't she?

"Granted," Fraser sighed, his relief palpable.

"The kids are being hurt," Ray said, "but not like that... the guy I'm looking for runs fights out of his hen houses..."

"You mean cockfights? But what would that have to do with Calum?"

Ray shook his head. "Hen house... it means a … well, a cat house."

"Cat house?"

"Well, you know..." Ray had a brainwave. "You know in Hamlet? Where he says 'get thee to a nunnery, go,' and you know he's not talking about nuns?" Not unexpectedly Fraser turned out to know more about Elizabethan street slang than he did about that of the twentieth century.

"Ah... yes," he declared, as the penny dropped. "That would certainly explain the extreme state of undress that those young women found themselves in."

"Well, this guy runs bare knuckled fights out the back, with various... anomalies."

"Anomalies?"

"Well, the fights themselves are illegal, but nothing seems to stick, which is why we've been investigating."

"And the police allow it?"

"What can we do?"

"I don't know, what are we doing?"

"We, Benny, are following up on some work I've been doing for the last year and a bit." Ray looked grim. "I've got footage of all sorts of unlicensed fights, girl on girl, guys beating each other down... but the rumour for a while has been that there's other fights... I thought it might have been with animals involved..." Ray swallowed. "I can't believe I didn't put it together as soon as I saw that poor kid."

"What?"

"Kid fighting, Benny. They get kids in the cage, maybe one kid with three to fend off, or a little kid against a big kid, or a girl against a boy, or two kids who just beat on each other till one of them can't fight on anymore."

Fraser drew in a sharp breath with a hiss.

"And this, you believe, is what Calum has been involved in?"

"It could be, yeah... it's big business. I've been trying to get connected for a while now, but it's been hard. And like I say, I thought it was dog or cock fights. Didn't want to think they could have kid fighting here... But what that guy said yesterday, about Calum's money making skills... he's either trained the boy as a pick pocket, or a fighter."

"Not..." Fraser swallowed, "not the... other?"

"No... like I say, the doctor would have said something."

"So... we're here to find out more about the juvenile fighting circuit?"

"Yes..." Ray paused. "If I can use my reputation to get in."

...

It would appear that Ray had a very poor reputation indeed among the criminal fraternity... these guys seemed to think that he was just as crooked and devious as themselves.

"If you could tell your employer that I and my associate have acquired a certain commodity, I'd be grateful." Ray smiled at the muscle who, arms folded massively across his chest, stood by the door. "It has come to my attention that there are certain markets I've not had the opportunity to explore yet... you know me, I'm a business man. So... could I speak to McMullen?"

The muscle man at the door shrugged, and stepped aside. "Sure, you speak to him yourself. What's with the doorman?"

"Ah... my friend here, I can vouch for him."

"Indeed," Fraser interjected, "I'm partial to the squared circle myself."

"That's Canadian for 'I enjoy boxing'," Ray quickly translated. "He's alright. I've seen him in the ring... an interesting technique, but he knows what he's doing."

Fraser smiled, and the doorman shrugged. "Come on in, McMullen's through there. In fact, he's been waiting for you."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser tipped his cap, and Ray rolled his eyes. Why did his friend have to be so compulsively polite, even to a hired thug?

"Yeah, thanks a lot," he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. Grabbing Fraser he marched him swiftly to McMullen's door.

"Hey, Mr McMullen," he called through as he opened the door. "Vecchio here... how you doing?"

McMullen sat with his feet up on his desk, and a scowl on his face.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, normally I'd wait a while before making your acquaintance, but as you probably know I've been a fan of your particular brand of entertainment for a while now? And I've lost as much as I've made. But now..." Vecchio grinned. "Now I have something that you might be interested in. So... let's see what you have to bargain with?"

"What could a crooked cop possibly have to bargain with?" McMullen gazed scornfully at Fraser. "And why have you dragged your boyfriend along?"

"Oh, well, you see, we're not really boyfriends," Fraser, as usual, began to talk off at tangent. "I mean, we're male, and we're friends, but we're not what 'boyfriend' implies."

"What my esteemed colleague is so spectacularly failing to say is that we're business associates, and we have a proposition for you."

"I see... and what would that be?"

Ray smiled like a shark, and laid a photograph on the table.

"This. This boy here..."

Fraser froze. He knew he should have checked the plan in more detail with Ray first, but this did come as something of a shock. Calum's face gazed up at them, with it's bruises and its cuts, and the boy's sad swollen eyes.

"Ah," McMullen smiled, almost as an affectionate uncle might, and looked at the picture. "One of our best. This boy has a future..."

How much of a future, Fraser thought, incredulous. Adults suffered brain damage from a life of boxing... what affect could this have on a developing child?

"So... you found this particular child?"

"Yes I did," Ray acknowledged McMullen's comments with a blasé expression that chilled Fraser even though he knew it wasn't real. "And, well... I may not always be the luckiest gambler on the planet, but I do know talent when I see it."

"And what do you plan to with this talent?"

"Well, I'd like a cut of the take... you see, I can make this boy disappear from police custody." Ray stared at McMullen with a chilly gaze. "If the boy 'runs away' then well... the paper work buries the whole thing. You can carry on with his... 'training', everything stays under the radar, nobody gets hurt."

McMullen nodded slowly. "That sounds like it should work... and besides, it never hurts to have a cop on your payroll. Or his... what are you... 'friend.' What's more clean cut than a Mountie? You could certainly be useful."

Fraser nodded, but said nothing.

Ray smirked. "It benefits us too, of course."

"Of course." McMullen smiled. "So... you make the boy 'disappear,' and I cut you in."

Ray stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal."

"Deal," Fraser also shook McMullen's proffered hand and successfully resisted the temptation to wipe his hand on his trousers.

…

Once out of the club, and well out of earshot Ray stopped, and shook himself off, like a dog emerging out of water. "Urgh," he pulled a face, "I feel dirty all over..."

"You were very good, Ray... I mean, you handled it well."

"I just feel sick, even knowing people like that, even knowing they're in the world."

Fraser nodded. "I like to think everyone has a saving grace, Ray, but sometimes I feel..." A lonely expression came over his face, and he went silent. Ray waited. "Sometimes I feel it's a losing battle, that maybe I'm wrong. The meek won't inherit the earth, in the end the darkness wins."

Ray blinked, not knowing what to say. He'd never have thought the Mountie could feel like that. Before he could collect his thoughts Fraser smiled again, a glimmer of light in a cold landscape.

"Then I remember, all that evil needs to win is for good men to do nothing. And you're a good man, Ray. You're doing something. We will bring this gang down."

Ray felt a lump welling in his throat. Fraser's endless optimism sometimes struck him as so naïve, so foolish... so beautiful. "Thanks Benny," he said, his voice unsteady. "You're a good man too."

…

McMullen sat at his desk, contemplating the picture that the cop had left on his desk. He knew that this Vecchio character had been losing big on the fights, and he knew that the force was full of crooked cops... but he was a cautious man. You could never be too safe with cops. Perhaps Vecchio had his own agenda...

Should he take out the cop and his weird friend, or should he give them the benefit of the doubt? Mullen wondered, chewing his lip.

He nodded to himself curtly, mind made up. Reaching out he unhooked the phone, and dialled a number. "Yeah... is Curly there? Tell him it's McMullen... I have a job for him."


	3. Chapter 3

As Ray finished off paper work Fraser read through his notes to get up to speed with the undercover investigation into illegal fighting. Pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger he staved off an uncharacteristic yawn. He hadn't slept well last night. There had been nightmares, but in the cold light of day he couldn't have told you what they were. He knew they were somehow connected with the case, that Calum's situation disturbed him on some visceral level. But when his thoughts approached another little boy he flinched away, not willing to face the memories. Little Benny stayed in the dark.

Ray was grumbling to himself, racing through his backed up inbox, when the phone rang. He lifted the receiver resentfully, and snapped, "yeah, Vecchio, this had better be important." Then he straightened in his chair, looking chastened. "Sorry, Ma... I didn't know it was you. I'm trying to finish up early to get home and see how he's doing..." his voice trailed off, and he creased his forehead, looking concerned. His next sentence was in Italian.

Fraser looked up, cocking his eyebrows questioningly. Ray made a "hush" gesture, and carried on talking. He sounded worried. Fraser concentrated. It had been years since he'd had to converse in Italian, and most of his vocabulary was gleaned from operas or the Latin his grandparents had insisted he learn. He'd read Primo Levi of course, and some other modern literature, but mainly his knowledge of the language was very academic. Ray's accent threw him at first, random words twisting themselves in his head nonsensically. Then, all at once, in a manner he had become accustomed to with languages, the disparate parts of speech seemed to slot together in his mind, like a lock suddenly turning, and he began to understand.

"So, what are you worried about?" Ray was saying, "he's bound to be a bit… (a word Fraser didn't know) … the poor boy suffered a lot." A pause, then "Ma, you can't blame yourself, that was years ago." Ray was being careful not to sound upset, and Fraser looked away, embarrassed. He shouldn't be hearing this. "Look, I'm sorry he reminds you of me, but it's not the same thing, Pa wasn't always like that..." Silence. "Ma, don't cry, I don't blame you, there was nobody to help us..." Fraser could hear Ma Vecchio on the other side of the phone, weeping, obviously distraught. He glanced back at Ray, then looked away, wounded by the raw expression on his friend's face. "Ma, you did your best, that's all any of us can do. And in the end you did ... (an expression Fraser didn't understand) ...I've always known you loved me... don't say that. You were the best Ma. Truly." There was silence for a moment on both sides of the phone, and Fraser heard the catch in Ray's voice as he finished the conversation. "I love you Ma. We're coming right over."

With a sigh Ray hung up. He felt obscurely guilty, as though it was his fault somehow that he'd been beaten as a child, as though it was his fault that his mother felt bad about it. Groaning he knuckled his sockets hard, pushing back warm prickles in his eyes that were definitely not tears. "Okay Benny," he said, trying to sound normal, "you probably guessed that was Ma. She's been a bit upset today because Calum's been really clingy, and she's feeling like she can't help him. He's been asking after 'the police guys and their wolf,' so I guess you're invited to dinner again."

Fraser smiled, happy to spare his friend's feelings by pretending he hadn't understood the conversation. It wasn't lying to avoid telling a truth. "Well, I'm sure that Dief and I will enjoy your mother's cooking as always. And it's probably good for Calum to feel some continuity. If we both turn up it may help him feel safer."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Ma says he's been hanging onto her skirts all day. Holding onto her every chance he could get, and she just feels... well, you know Ma. She loves everybody's child, and she's just feeling..." Ray tailed off. All of a sudden he felt like just stopping, collapsing. He couldn't find the energy to continue the conversation. He knew that Fraser hadn't overheard him talking about his father, but still... his conversation with his mother, the visit to McMullen earlier, Calum's battered face... Ray was tired. He was sick of it. Sick to tears.

He shook his head, angry with himself. Grow up Vecchio, don't be such a crybaby. "Well, anyway," he said, "paper work can wait till tomorrow. Come on Benny, we're going to the four star Vecchio Ristorante for pasta and a house full of kids."

Leaving the station both men were distracted with their own thoughts, little suspecting how similar those thoughts were. Ray was thinking of his father, and knuckles, and fists and boots. Fraser was thinking safe thoughts, keeping away from the boy in the dark. He was thinking of a failed attempt to rescue baby seals, and being clubbed repeatedly. A sad smile twitched at the corner of his lips. He told that story sometimes and people laughed. Strange how time and distance could turn a trauma into an anecdote, and an anecdote into a joke. He was guilty of it himself sometimes. He would play up a story, just to see the looks of incredulity on people's faces. It wasn't lying, it was presenting truth in such a way that he could hide behind it and be safe. Did Ray do that, he wondered. Did he make jokes, and bluff, and tell tall tales to protect himself? Thinking of the conversation he had unwittingly eavesdropped on Fraser suspected as much. Ray, he thought. Ray, Ray, Ray... I wish there was something I could do to help.

…

Wrapped up in their separate darknesses neither of the friends noticed the vehicle following Ray's car at a discreet distance. Arriving at the Vecchio home they failed to notice a car pass them, slowing slightly, then taking a corner and disappearing into the night. On a normal day either one of them could have spotted their pursuer, and taken precautions. But this was no longer a normal day.

…

Letting himself in Ray donned his cheerful family man persona, becoming Uncle Raimondo, tousling the hair of the crowd of cousins who had descended on the place, kissing his new baby niece. Colum stood staring hungrily, resenting the attention the other children were getting. Ray saw him looking, smiled at him, and went down on one knee opening his arms. Colum ran straight at him, throwing himself into a bear hug. Ray rested his chin on the boy's curls, and closed his eyes painfully. When he opened them he saw Fraser watching them, his face very still, with a grief very deep. One of Fraser's quiet looks, that other people would see right past. Ray knew his friend too well. He smiled at him, though it hurt, and Fraser smiled back. "Hey, Colum my man," Ray tousled his hair, "I missed you buddy, what you been up to today?" The boy hung around his neck like a pendant as he stood up, and Ray carried him on his hip like a baby.

…

McMullen sat at the bar of the club, casually watching the pole dancers disrobing themselves, swirling a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. "So," he asked Curly, "what have you got?"

"Well," Curly cleared his throat, nervous as always around the boss. "We know the Vecchio's, I mean, not the immediate family, but the cop's old man was in and out of prison, always looking out for himself. Ran up a lot of debts, got in some serious trouble back in the day. The son... well, you know what they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"So, this cop's dirty then, he's not undercover or anything like that?"

"Nah, he's into what his Dad was into, gambling, fighting. He's using the cop thing as a cover... smarter than his old man, but just as crooked."

"Huh..." McMullen looked thoughtful, and took a gulp of his drink. "So, what about this Mountie chap? Seen him in the papers a few times, saving little old ladies and pulling cats out of trees. What's his part in all this?"

"Well, I figure the Mountie's too clean." Curly leaned towards his boss, conspiratorially, forgetting for a moment to be frightened of him. "I hear that him and this Ray Vecchio are a bit too close, if you know what I mean." McMullen creased his brow, not understanding. "I mean, they're always hanging around together, eating out together... you know, word is that maybe they're more than friends."

McMullen laughed out loud, clunking his glass down. Curly smiled. Juicy gossip was always useful. The boss would be pleased.

"Queer cops... that would go down well at the precinct."

"Yeah... and it's not just that, the Mountie's actually been sent here as a punishment... for something. Apparently Canada's not too pleased with him at the moment."  
"Really?" McMullen nodded thoughtfully. "So, we've got a couple of queer cops, both of them crooked, trying to muscle in on our little operation. Interesting... Anything else?"

"Oh, yeah... they've got the boy stashed at Vecchio's place."

McMullen looked sharply at his subordinate, and Curly shifted backwards in his seat, nervous again, and continued. "So, they've got him right under their noses. Probably reckon he's safe there..."

"Well," MCMullen said. "So they do have something to bargain with. But I don't know... if they were just dirty cops they might be useful. But if they're queer then they're not going to be that popular in their precinct, they probably don't have as much pull as they're pretending to. Not sure how useful they will be, in the long run."

There was a silence, as Curly waited for orders, and McMullen pondered his course of action.

"Okay," he declared eventually. "We don't want these clowns to have leverage on us, and they're no use to us anyway. So, we'll take out the cops, and we'll get the boy back ourselves. See to it."

Curly stood, and nodded. "Yes boss," he confirmed. This part of his job he enjoyed, he thought, licking his lips. "They're already dead."

…

Dinner ended in tears. Calum had been dislodged from Vecchio's knee by a series of youngsters, all of whom wanted to climb on "Mount Ray", as the family joke had it. Tearfully the boy loitered around him, before turning his attention to Fraser. For a while there was peace, as Calum sat on Fraser's lap, wearing his stetson, even though it was far too big, and asking questions about Canada. Diefenbaker snuffled Calum's feet, and the boy stroked the wolf's head, while Fraser regaled them with tall (though true) tales of life in big snow country.

He wasn't quite sure when it happened, but Fraser suddenly realised that he had gained quite an audience... not just Francesca this time, but a whole gang of little Vecchios. In the end Paulo, about four, attempted to join Calum on Fraser's knee... and then all hell broke loose.

"Get off, get off, get off!" the older boy shrieked, and shoved Paulo hard. There was an alarmed yelp from Diefenbaker, and the young Vecchio went over backwards, the back of his head glancing off the side of the table. It looked worse than it was. Paulo's eyes flew open with surprise, then he let rip a full lunged wail. Ma Vecchio rose to her feet, and Paulo's mother grabbed her son to her breast, speechless, staring at Calum who, having dropped from Fraser's knee was now in fighting stance with his fists up.

"Monster," Paulo's mother managed to say, then, fiercely, "you little monster, don't you ever touch my son again." Eyes glittering she marched out of the dining room. With a rustle of murmurs other parents removed their children rapidly. Ray, Fraser and Ma Vecchio remained in the room, staring at Calum. He was white faced, and fierce, lips trembling.

"Don't touch me," he said, "don't any of you touch me."

Fraser cleared his throat gently. "Son," he said, quietly. "Nobody here's going to hurt you." Calum maintained his stance for a few seconds more, then started to shake. Tears slid down his face, but he didn't make a sound. Fraser held out his hand, palm flat, fingers loose and relaxed, so that the child could see that he wasn't going to be struck.

Ray got his voice back. "Hey kid, it's alright. Everyone makes mistakes." Normally a child who had behaved so badly would have been called out for it, but everyone in the room understood that this boy had no idea how to behave. Fraser thought of him as a small, feral creature, needing to be bound up and healed. Ray saw him as wounded ghost, a child with half of his heart missing. Ma Vecchio, tears in her eyes, simply saw him as her little boy, standing in tears after his Pa had beaten him one more time after a night of drunkeness.

"Come here, baby," she said, with a catch in her throat. "It's alright, everything's going to be alright."

Calum suddenly burst out crying, in fits of tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Ma Vecchio lifted him up in her arms and rocked him. "Sweetheart, sweetheart. It will be alright, don't worry... it will be alright."

…

After that the family party broke up rather quickly. Calum attempted to apologise to Paulo, but it didn't go down well. Paulo's mother had (quite naturally under the circumstances) decided that Calum was a thug, to be avoided, and Calum's apology didn't sound sincere enough to her. Paulo, being four, had no idea what had happened, other than the big boy was a big bully. He sat on his mother's knee and pouted, and pushed out his lower lip. "You're a big meany," he said, "and I don't like you."

"I'm sorry," Calum repeated, and started to cry. For a moment Paulo's mother relented. She suddenly remembered the circumstances in which this boy had been discovered.

"You won't do it again," she stated. Calum shook his head, "no I promise."

"Okay," she said gruffly. "Because Paulo's a little boy, and he didn't deserve that."

Calum stood on tiptoe, trying to kiss Paulo, but Paulo turned his head angrily, while his mother tensed up again, standing and lifting her son out of reach.

Fraser watched the whole thing, observing how unnatural Calum's behaviour was, swinging from wildly aggressive to far too clingy. Attachment disorder, he thought again, sadly. This boy needs a lot of help.

Ray looked on and shook his head. This boy needs friends, he thought.

Ma Vecchio thought, this boy needs his family.

What Calum thought nobody knew. The house went quiet as the clan left, and the boy curled himself up on a sofa hugging Diefenbaker and not talking to anyone.

The three remaining adults cleared the table, washed dishes quietly, and didn't know what to say.

…

Outside Curly sat in his car, smoking blue curling cigarettes, watching as the house emptied, observing the figures silhouetted at the window. He could bide his time. When things were quiet, when they were in bed, then he could strike. All he had to do was wait.

…

It was decided, under the circumstances, that Benny was going to stay the night. Franny was with her cousin, who had decided to take Paulo to the hospital to make sure there was no concussion. (There wasn't, Fraser had made sure of that in the aftermath of the incident, but Paulo was his mother's first and only child so far, the apple of her eye. So to the hospital they all went, to put everyone at rest. Paulo grizzled, then fell asleep on the way home with a face full of chocolate.)

"Yeah, I think you should stay Benny," Ray whispered in the kitchen while Ma sat next to Diefenbaker and Calum. "You can see what Ma said about him being clingy, and he doesn't seem to feel safe. He trusts us, well, I hope he trusts us... you don't mind do you?"

"Not at all, Ray," Fraser put his hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed. "It makes sense, until the boy is feeling safer. Has the station doctor managed to set him up with a psychiatrist yet?"

Ray rolled his eyes, "he's had ten minutes with a social worker, that's been it since he saw the doctor. I'm going to knock some heads together tomorrow and try to get the kid some help. But tonight... yeah, I think we should be here for him."

"Understood."

…

Outside Curly laughed as he saw the lights go out. He'd done his homework, and earlier that day had gained access to the squalid little apartment that the Mountie called home. He should have realised, he thought, amused. Of course the Mountie didn't actually live there... who would? Faggot cop, he thought, him and Vecchio live together. Well, that just made it easier. He could take them both out at once. He couldn't imagine a couple of queers and a fat old woman putting up much resistance. He felt a bit bad about killing the old lady, but some jobs were like that. He'd shot a pregnant woman in the back once. You couldn't enjoy work all the time. Apart from the old woman though he could feel good about this one. Killing faggots was a public service after all.

"Done and dusted," he congratulated himself, leaning back and cracking his knuckles. He was looking forward to this night's work.

…

That night Calum decided to sleep in Ma Vecchio's, and Diefenbaker joined them. The boy hid his face under Fraser's stetson, and worn out from crying quickly fell asleep. Ma Vecchio kept an arm draped protectively over him, and dreamt of her own son.

Ray tossed and turned. Not again, he thought, please let me sleep tonight? Twice he opened his eyes, and saw his father's ghost standing at the bottom of the bed. "Go to hell," he said the second time, throwing a shoe at his old man. The figure vanished and didn't come back, but Ray could feel him there, just out of sight, watching.

In Franny's empty room Fraser found he couldn't sleep on the bed provided, because the mattress was too soft. The few times he drifted off he woke choking. He felt that he was sinking into a quagmire.

He slept then, fitfully, on the floor. Every time he drifted off he found himself dreaming of a darkness, and a door, behind which he could not look. Each time he dreamt he fell deeper into it, saw a little bit more.

He had promised her. He'd said that he would be good, that he'd stay hiding until Daddy got home. And it had been quiet for so long, after the shouting, after the flash bang, after the thud as something fell. And the man laughed, and the door slammed. And Mommy didn't come. And the firework smell curled in his lungs, and he wasn't crying. He wasn't crying. And he had promised, he had promised, he had promised. So he stood in the dark, as the air got colder, stood at attention, a good little boy, being a soldier, like she said, obeying the command. Waiting to be relieved of his duties.

And morning never came.

Fraser woke, sitting up suddenly, his heart beating hard. He didn't remember. He never remembered. He would not remember remembering. He blinked. Forgotten. It was gone.

Why was his heart beating so hard? He stood, and hugged his chest, not understanding himself, or the idiot tears that were crawling down his face. He was cold, in his vest and underpants. But he didn't shiver. He stood at the far side of the room, and leaned his head against the wall.

…

Outside Curly decides that it is time. He puts on his gloves, his balaclava, and glides over the road, towards the house. He's done this more times than he can count. He leaves no prints, nobody to ID him. He's not Curly any more. He's a ghost.

Ma sleeps, and Calum stirs beneath her arm, muttering. Diefenbaker curls up close to the boy, and he settles. Perhaps he dreams.

Ray gives up, gets out of bed, puts the light on. He's restless, feels like something is wrong. Maybe it's his father's ghost, he doesn't know. But he doesn't feel safe. He takes his gun out of the draw, opens the chamber. Don't be silly Ray, he thinks, you can't shoot a ghost.

Fraser hears something, stiffens. Perhaps it's his imagination, he thinks, he's been on edge tonight. Still... having heard he has no choice but to listen. He turns to face the door, wondering.

The monster creeps up the stairs, dressed in black. A weak man, afraid of his boss, a man with no dreams or nightmares, who doesn't see blood on his hands, only water. His gun is drawn, the safety off, and he saw the light go on, he knows where the queer cops sleep. Three guesses what they're doing. He laughs silently... he'll take them by surprise, that's for sure. He'll kill them first, then the mother, then take the boy. He smiles.

That's it, Fraser hears it again. He's certain. A board creaks on the stairs. He moves silently to the door, opens it partway, and sees a dark figure, a shadow among the shadows, gliding onto the landing. Swiftly he bursts the door open, and flings himself at the figure, at just the moment Ray leaps from his room, brandishing a gun. A door swings open and Ma Vecchio is standing in the hallway, bathed in the bedroom light. Behind her Calum peeps, wide eyed and terrified. She pushes him behind her, back into the bedroom, to shield him from the sight.

Fraser and the shadow man roll over and over, crashing against the bannister and tumbling down the stair well. The man is a professional. Even though he was taken by surprise he manages to pistol whip Fraser, and shoves the gun into his mouth. Ray is standing at the top of the stairs pointing a gun down at him. The man, concealed behind his balaclava is nevertheless smiling. He loves his job.

"Put the gun down or I'll shoot your boyfriend's head off."

"How do I know you won't blow his head off when I've put the gun down?"

The man chuckles to himself. The cop's quick, that had been just his plan. Well, they'd proved themselves more alert than he'd expected. He likes a challenge. He'll have to adjust his plan, that's all."I'm going to take the gun from his mouth," he said, "then I'm going to march him up the stairs with the gun to his back, and we'll see what we can sort out from there, okay, friend?" His voice is dripping sarcasm, he's trying not to laugh.

Ray stays in his stance, gun steadily trained on his enemy. The man takes his knee from Fraser's chest and stands.

"Get up Mountie," the gunman says, "now, move."

Fraser gets to his feet, seething at himself inwardly... how could he have allowed himself to be so easily overpowered? He can't see clearly. Blood trickles into his eye. The itch is maddening.

Expressionlessly he ascends the stairs, with the cold metal at his back. Ray backs off, keeping the gunman in his sights.

Ma Vecchio has carried Calum into her bedroom. She whispers to him, "get in the closet, hide." The boy hides. Ma prays, and stands prepared to fight.

Dief slinks low to the floor, growling ominously in his throat.

At the top of the stairs the gunman pauses, as though to make treaty with Ray as to his friend's return. Then, quick as a heart attack he flashes a knife from his sleeve, and stabs Fraser in the back. With a look of surprise Fraser goes down on his knees, and his assailant laughs, sounding as innocent as a child in the playground. Not an instantly fatal blow, but deep. He's looking forward to fun with them later.

Vecchio, startled, steps towards his friend, relaxing his grip on the gun, his first thought to help Fraser. The gunman kicks hard, sweeping Vecchio's legs from under him. He knows that he's going to shoot them, soon, but he likes to leave that till last, to be in and out of there before armed response can turn up. The cop goes down, the killer kicks him hard in the groin, in the stomach, in the face.

He's smiling down at the two men when a woman flies at him, fury in her face. She's shouting at him in Italian, and he's so taken by surprise that he almost loses the gun.

If he had ever threatened a mother's child before it wouldn't have surprised him, the ferocity with which Ma Vecchio ran to defend Ray. But although he's killed so many this is the first time he's fought an enraged mother. He is astonished to find that he struggles to beat her. She rains down on his face with her fists, she lifts her knee causing him to twist away to protect himself. She bares her teeth, and he's afraid that she might tear him. Then, with a brutal double fist to her head he strikes out desperately, and she's finally down. She falls over her son, and the man smiles to see that the cop is unconscious. Now it's just the child.

The pain in his back is sharp as ice and the blood is oozing, feels like glue, feels like fire. Fraser is Benny now. He forgets that he's a Mountie, that he's a cop. All he knows is that his friend is on the floor, his friend's mother is on the floor, it looks like death in here. All he knows is that a man is going to hurt a child. Sickened, he stands. Leaning on the wall he closes in on the man, the man with the gun. His blood glistens black in the dimness, like the track of a giant slug, staining the wall as he drags himself along. Only the light from the open door guides him as he staggers, gaining on the man, gaining on the child.

The killer hasn't even considered the Mountie. A guy in his underwear, open wound in his back.

The wound has been open forever, Benny knows it, as he steps through the bedroom door. Some wounds never heal.

The man looks round the room, but doesn't see the wolf crouched protectively in front of the boy's hiding place. Diefenbaker springs at the man, going for his throat. The man howls, dodges, the wolf flashes by his ear, and the gun spins to the ground. Diefenbaker snarls, turns to fly at him again. As the man pivots on his heel to face the wolf he sees the Mountie, white faced, death and vengeance coming through the door. The man throws a knife... misses the Mounty, but not his wolf. The white dog drops, writhing. The Mountie raises his fists, and steps forward into fighting stance.

And a boy starts to cry. Weeping from behind the closet door.

Benny stands and sways. The door behind which Calum is hiding is latticed, surely the boy can see through. He can see what's happening. He can see the men square up to fight each other.

Benny sees the boy's eyes glinting through the lattice, sees how wide they are, how frightened. He remembers the boy in the dining room, squaring up to fight a four year old, a proper thug, then the boy's collapse back into childhood after he knew what he had done.

Benny looks at the frightened child, the child who has seen too much violence, inflicted too much, taken too much, and he drops his fists, relaxes his hands. He walks, heavily, to the door behind which they boy hides and stands in front of it, blocking the boy's view. He smiles down at him.

"It's okay, son," he says, "really, it's okay. Everything's going to be alright."

The boy is breathing raggedly, and Benny is light-headed and sick. But he can't... he just can't. He knows he can't inflict any more damage on this boy. He can't let the boy see a man he trusts put up fists and fight. Not this boy. Not again.

Behind him the killer gets to his feet. He can't find his gun, and he's not taking his knife out of that wolf, not while the thing's still snarling. He's furious... this whole thing has gone so wrong. These faggot cops and an old woman making a fool out of him. He looks at the idiot Mountie, and hates him. Hates him so much that he forgets he's a professional, forgets it's a hit, and just lays into him. Hits him wildly, thumps him and kicks him in the back, on his legs, again and again.

The guy just stands there.

Benny feels the blows resonate through him, as though he were a big bass drum. But it doesn't hurt. Not really, not real hurt, not deep hurt. It will pass, it will pass, all pain must pass. He smiles through the lattice at the boy in the closet. "It will be alright," he tells him, knowing it is hopeless, knowing that it's true all the same. Calum is sucking his fingers, and looking up, expressionless, his tears drying on his cheeks. Then he smiles.

And behind Benny, behind his assailant, a cop comes in. The killer is so angry, has so lost his temper, so lost his way, that he doesn't even realise at first that he's been grabbed by his wrist, that he's been twisted round and cuffed.

"You're under arrest," Ray says. And Benny knows, like a miracle, that it's true. Everything is going to be alright. There's a flood of relief, and a peculiar joy, and Benny relaxes. He feels himself sink to his knees, and slowly, without willing it, he slumps against the wall.

The boy pushes his way past the door and throws his arms around him.

"Fraser, Fraser," he shouts, "wake up Fraser, please, wake up, you said it would be alright."

Little Benny is spinning down into darkness, but he wants to tell the boy that it's okay. That there's nothing to be scared of. But it's too late to say anything, too warm and safe in the silence, and as for Fraser... well Fraser is a million miles away.


	4. Chapter 4

For the longest time Benny didn't want to wake up. He felt safe down here, in the dark. Above him, in the real world, he could hear people coming and going, but distantly. Far far away. He was at the bottom of a well. Nobody could get him here.

…

Ray hated hospitals. So did his mother... she spent six hours complaining to the doctor that all she had was a headache, and how old was he anyway, twelve? She wanted a real doctor if she was going to have stitches. Ray recognised the fright in her voice, and held her hand till it was over. She was a tough old nut. He smiled. She didn't even take bed rest at home. She just started tidying the place up, teaching Calum how to make linguine, and singing hymns in Italian at the top of her lungs.

It took Ray a little longer. The kick to his stomach had cracked ribs, the kick to his face had concussed him, and as he went down hard an old fracture to his skull had opened up again. After back up arrived and took in the suspect Ray started vomiting and the dizziness kicked in so he had to lie down. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, and he tried to pass it off, but it was enough that the hospital held him in for a couple of days.

He'd spent enough time in hospitals over the years. But now he was worrying about someone else. At first he'd thought his friend was invincible, some sort of superman, leaping from tall buildings and running cars to a halt in pursuit of the bad guy. That illusion was shattered when Buck Frobisher, a friend of Fraser's father, arrived in Chicago, on the run from a major bad guy. The injury Benny took on that occasion hurt Ray in a way he could never have expected. He'd had partners injured before, been injured himself … but Fraser? Well, it was unthinkable. One minute he was running, jumping, fighting, fearless, the next he was helpless, stabbed in the leg with a hunting knife. Ray remembered the fear he'd felt then, watching his partner bleed, thinking he would lose him. It was only then that he realised how much he loved the big galoot, how much Fraser had become the big brother he'd never had.

Ray had never wanted to sit watching Fraser weak again, or in pain. He pulled a face. Yet here they both were. Both waiting... for something.

He looked across at his friend, still sleeping. This time it was different. Fraser had come through surgery with no complications. The battering he had taken had resulted in colourful bruises, but then, Ray was no oil painting at the moment either. The thing was, they'd both been battered and bruised before. The doctors told him that they could find no reason why Fraser was still asleep.

He just wouldn't wake up.

…

"Nice to see you on your feet, Vecchio," Welsh stated, gruffly.

"Thank you sir. No long term harm." He'd been gone four days. The doctors told him to take longer, but he wanted to see this case through. For Calum, for his Ma, for Benny.

"So, how's he doing?"

Ray sighed. "The same. Physically he's getting better, but he's not awake yet."

Welsh looked over Ray's shoulder, failing to make eye contact. He didn't want the officer to feel uncomfortable, and he didn't really know what to say or do anyway. So instead of expressing any more concern for the Mountie he hastened to sum up business.

"Well, we do have some good news. There's been some major advances in the case. Fraser's deduction about the boy's family being Irish turned up good. We found his grandmother."

"Oh yeah? What good is she," Vecchio said sourly, "she never reported him missing."

"As a matter of fact, yes, she did."

"She did? Why didn't it turn up in a missing person's report?"

"We were looking in the wrong place."

"We did a nationwide search."

"Well, Elaine had a brainwave. We decided to cast our nets further, and it turns out that this little boy was snatched, two and a half years ago, from his family in Ireland."

"Ireland? You're kidding me... how did they get him in the country?"

Welsh leaned forward, a triumphant look on his face.

"Well, you know that business you've been investigating the last year and a half, all that illegal fighting we've been hearing about? This case of yours cracked open a kiddy fighting ring that was smuggling children into the country from all over the world. They smuggle them in crammed into container trucks, forge documents, give them new names, keep them in dives, pretending they're family. They take vulnerable children. Your boy was orphaned, and his grandmother was raising him alone. And half the kids forget they ever had a real family, or what they used to be called. This lad Calum, he's a strong kid. He remembered who he was. Remembered his name, his grandmother. That's how we found her, that and Fraser's linguistic analysis." Welsh smiled. "Got to admire the Red Guy... we'd never have picked up on that."

"So... all this has happened in the last four days?"

Welsh nodded. "The guy you arrested turned out to be a contract killer working for some of the big gangs and families. He rolled over for the FBI."

"Well, they've got to have some uses. What about the guy the kid was hiding from... did he turn up?"

"Yeah, and a half a dozen other adults in on it, including one woman, and fifty seven kids."

"Fifty seven?" Ray blinked, appalled at the scale of it.

"There are more, a lot more, but now we've got a handle on this thing we're tracking them down."

"Wow... you've been busy."

"Anyway... when you get home there's good news for your little house guest."

"Oh?" Ray lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "What's that?"

Welsh smiled now, a thoroughly happy expression on his face for once. "His grandmother is coming over on the plane. She's landing tomorrow."

"Oh that's... that's wonderful." Ray was speechless. How had this all happened so quickly?

Welsh started to shuffle his papers together, preparing to dismiss his officer. "We've had everyone working the case," he said, answering Ray's unspoken thought. "You did good," he said, "you and the Mountie, you did real good."

"Thank you sir."

"And Vecchio, you've done enough being a hero." Welsh gave him a sharp look. "Take your sick days. We can finish this without you killing yourself. Just keep an eye on the kid, and the Red Guy, and your Mom. You've had a hell of a week."

Tell me about it, Ray thought, as he took his leave. Tell me about it.

…

In the hospital ward an old Mountie sat next to the sleeping Benton, gazing at him with a troubled expression on his face.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you son," Bob Fraser said, although he knew well his son wouldn't hear him, or wouldn't remember it when he woke up. "You were so young, and you didn't remember. I kept meaning to write about it, so you'd understand when you grew up... but how could I write that down? I never had the words for it." The old man shook his head. "Two days," he said, "two days she lay there. I came back, and you'd fallen where you stood. Passed out maybe. Half in and half out of that damned wardrobe... I could never look at it again. Had to gut the whole damn house." Silence. "I'm sorry, son, you don't want to hear about my decorating." He laughed at himself, though there was precious little humour in his laughter. Then he sighed, "I came in, I thought you were both dead. There she was, her precious blood all over the floor, and there you were, cold as ice. If I hadn't seen a pulse in your neck I'd have run right out into the snow... and I don't know what I'd have done. I thought I lost you son." He pulled a face at himself, remembering. "And then, because I couldn't bear it, because you were so like her, your looks, your little ways..." there was a catch in his throat as he confessed it, "I ran away again, like I always ran from you. And I lost you anyway."

Benton stirred in his sleep, and his father gently put his hand on his son's chest. "You feel that, son? Your heart beating? That's a good thing. Your mother died protecting you. She'd want you to be happy. She'd want you to wake up. I know you'll not remember, not when you're waking, but just remember this. Your mother and your father... we loved you. We still do. Wake up, son."

The ghost waited a moment, but his son slept on. When the nurse came in to change the sheets the old man faded, and was gone.

…

Calum had already been to see "Deefybaker", who was making a good recovery at the vets', and then over Ma Vecchio's objections, insisted on going to see Fraser before he left. Mrs Vecchio was worried that the boy would take away a bad memory of Fraser, and wanted to protect him from yet more grief. But Calum insisted. Newly reunited with his grandmother he seemed more confident than before, and besides, Mrs Kelly wanted to meet the man who had done so much for her boy. She had almost given up when the Gardai turned up on her door with the unexpected, so much longed for news. She had been crying for days, almost unable to believe it, until she stepped off the plane and saw Calum waiting, taller than she remembered, solemn eyed, a skinny balding man on one side, a sturdy motherly figure on the other. The reunion was all she could have hoped for, holding him in his arms, kissing his poor bruised skin, bathing in his happiness. She couldn't thank the Vecchio's enough. Even if he wasn't awake she wanted to acknowledge the other man who had protected her grandson.

Fraser looked perfectly peaceful when they walked in. "He must be having nice dreams," Calum said, matter of factly.

"I hope so," said Ray.

Mrs Kelly started to dab at her eyes, and turned away. She didn't want her boy to see her cry.

Calum walked to the side of the bed, and stood up on the chair to be tall enough. "I just wanted to say, thank you Fraser. You were right, everything's going to be alright." And then, solemnly, he dropped a kiss on Fraser's forehead... not in the desperate clingy way that he had done earlier on, but as a child might kiss his big brother. "I hope you wake up soon."

It was like rushing up from dark water, the silence receding, and the voices coming ever closer. Fraser could feel himself return to himself, and heard the little boy and Ray speaking, heard Ma Vecchio and the Irish woman praying their rosary, at a loss for anything else to do. And as he heard the voices he remembered that it was good that his heart beat, and his chest rose and fell, and that life abounded, and joy.

He blinked, and opened his eyes. Turned his head slightly. Saw the relief and delight on Ray's face, the peace that had settled upon Calum, the warmth in the whole room.

"Benny!" Ray promptly made a fool of himself, and threw his arms round his friend. He didn't care. The two women raised their arms, rejoicing.

Calum simply smiled.

Fraser smiled back. He put his arms around his friends, his two brothers, and squeezed.

It was good to be home.


End file.
